


Beatae Memoriae

by TashanaAmbrosia



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Angst, Are you who you are without memories, Bulla wants her Papa back, Bulma and Trunks are trying to hold things together, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Family Drama, Fluff and Angst, Memory Loss, Mostly Canon Compliant, Vegeta has lost his memories and it's not good, so many feelings, trying to find what was lost
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-16 11:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18690760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TashanaAmbrosia/pseuds/TashanaAmbrosia
Summary: What starts as a normal Friday takes a dark turn when Vegeta is injured due to a gravity room malfunction. The memories of his life on Earth are almost entirely gone, and he sees his home as a prison and his family and friends as his captors. After the situation comes to a boiling point, Bulma’s reaching out blindly to try and reconnect with the man she loves and hopefully she hasn’t lost.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my piece for the Vegebulocracy Mini-Bang 2019 Event. I really am proud of this piece and how it turned out. The artist I was paired with is GreatRageShortLegs who is so wonderful and created the breathtaking title image for this piece. I cannot put into words how wonderful it was working with her on this collab. She has a Patreon that you should support because she is so amazing! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the story. Thank you again for reading.

 

   **Beatae Memoriae**

  

An alarm sounded loudly through the speakers in the Gravity Room, causing father and son to halt mid-blow. The artificial gravity commenced the power-down sequence automatically as Trunks wiped the sweat from his forehead post, what his father considered, a fairly light sparring session. “That’s gotta be a little better right? Felt like it was better.”

“Hmmm.” Vegeta paused for a moment, then offered a curt critique, “You’re still soft with your left jabs and left blocks. You rely too heavily on the power in your right hook.”

“Trust me I’m very aware that I’m lacking on my left side blocks.” He rubbed his side, knowing the bruises were already forming, but with his healing factor they’d be gone by tomorrow. “I gotta go get ready for class. You takin’ a break?”

“No. Your mother’s insisting I attend some dinner event with her this evening. I’ll be finishing up my day’s training this morning.” Vegeta drank greedily from his water bottle. “Go on.”

Trunks started towards the door, but snapped his finger just as it opened, “Oh, Mom said not to put the gravity up to full capacity. She ran some checks on it yesterday and thought some of the readings were off.”

“Your mother worries entirely too much. I can handle this thing malfunctioning, I’m stronger than anything she invents and she’s too precise for anything to go catastrophically wrong.”

“Alright.” Trunks nodded, “I’m getting Bulla after school, so I’ll handle food for us, after I grab some cash from Mom. See-ya, Pop." 

Vegeta shook his head over the boy’s worrying, _too much like his_ _mother_. Whatever it may look like to the outside world, he was well aware of his wife’s abilities and he trusted the things she built. Withstanding the one accident before his ascension, the training room she’d built for him didn’t fail. He cranked the gravity up, if he was going to lose half a day, he’d need to make the other half count. 

 

.:.

 

Bulma sat on the floor of her daughter’s room as Bulla offered her a cup of imaginary tea. “Bulla, I think your tea is as good as your Grandma’s.”

The four-year-old giggled, “Momma, this is just pretend, is not real. You so silly. Can we have real tea tomorrow?”

“I don’t see why not. It’s Saturday and I don’t have to work.”

“We can invite Papa to the tea party too.” Bulla crawled up on her mother’s lap. “Do you think he’ll come?”

“I think,” Bulma finished pulling Bulla’s hair into high pigtails, “that your papa likes to have tea parties with you to be special with just you two and no one else.”

“Oh, okay.” Bulla nodded. “Do I get to go to school all day today? Or is it a half day?”

“It’s a half-day and Trunks is going to pick you up. Now, what is the rule?”

“Wait for Trunks and don’t fly home without him. I hava be patience.”

“Patient, you have to be patient.” Bulma corrected, kissing the crown of her daughter’s head, “Let’s go find your brother.”

“I’m right here. Ready to go, Beauty B?” Trunks leaned in the doorway smelling slightly of ozone no doubt from a power up to dry off from his shower.

“Are you going to class dressed like that?” Bulma arched an eyebrow.

Trunks tugged at the shoulder of his shirt as he looked down at it slightly confused. “It’s clean; what’s wrong with it?”

“Your shirt’s wrinkled. You look like a bum. Did you pull this out of a laundry basket?” Bulma fussed at him. “Seriously…”

“Mom, I’m not gonna dress up in a shirt ‘n’ tie for class, that’s not my look.”

“And what have you decided your current look is exactly?” She folded her arms over her chest.

Trunks’ smirk was a near photocopy of his fathers. “Casually indifferent.”

“Bum. Bum. Bum.” Bulla giggled loudly from behind their mother.

“Oh just you….” He started, but an explosion rocked the house nearly knocking all of them to the ground. Trunks covered his mother and sister as the shaking continued for another few seconds. “Grab Bulla! I’m getting you both to the safe room!” He barked.

“We don’t even know what that was.” Bulma was arguing, but already had a wide-eyed Bulla in her arms. “It was probably just something in the lab.”

“We have a plan. I’ll get Dad and…” Trunks’ face lost all of its color.

“PAPA!” Bulla started to cry at the same time Bulma felt her heart clench. “I can’t feel Papa!”

Trunks hurried her down the hallway to the safe room, but instead of going inside she handed Bulla off to her father. “Dad, take her. Bulla, stay with your grandparents. Trunks, let’s go.”

“Mom…”

“Don’t argue, just go. Find him!” Bulma shoved her son and he was gone in a flash of color towards the GR. She stopped by her room and snagged the partial sensu bean out of her bedroom drawer.  This could not be happening on a random Friday with no warning and no enemy.

“DAD! DAD!”

She could hear Trunks screaming over the metal ripping and crashing as she rounded the corner. The wall that had connected the GR to the rest of the house was in shreds. The GR’s motor was still going. Most of the house was accessible to her through apps on her phone, and she punched in the code to enact an emergency shut down. The motor chocked and sputtered before shutting down completely, her son’s panicked cries now echoing as he ripped through the debris.  She should be doing something. She needed to…needed to…

“Bulma, are you okay?” Goku appeared to her left via Instant Transmission with Goten in tow. “Vegeta just kinda…”

“Don’t just stand there fucking help me!” Trunks screeched, “I can’t sense him and I can’t find him.” 

The Sons jumped into action, trying to move everything out of the way. She kept waiting to hear a complaint of how this wasn’t needed, how he was fine, but…

_Where was Vegeta? Where was he?_

“We got him!” Goten called out, “No, Dad, don’t move him! He’s not breathing.”

“Goku, get me to him. I have part of a sensu.” Bulma let her friend snatch her up and she knelt at her husband’s side. There was so much blood. He was bleeding from his head. _Gods, there was so much blood._ She laid her ear over his chest, there was no heartbeat. “Trunks, we need to do CPR, I need you to compress his chest, but not with too much pressure.”

She tipped Vegeta’s chin back as much as she dared and breathed air into his lungs. “Now.”

“One. Two. Three.” They spoke in synch, as Trunks pressed down three times. She breathed into Vegeta again, and they repeated the process.

“You stubborn asshole, don’t you die on me. Breathe damn-it!”

Vegeta took a shallow breath but barely moved.

Bulma crushed the sensu between her fingers and put the mush it into his mouth, rubbing his throat, making him involuntarily swallow. She assessed the damage as quickly as she could, knowing that a fraction of a sensu wasn’t going to be nearly enough. But even if she had a whole one, if there was any metal still in the brain, then the sensu might cause more damage. If the brain healed around the foreign material, the symptoms he could develop: headaches, light sensitivity, loss of motor functions, loss of hearing, loss of speech, loss of mem…

 “Mom?” Trunks broke her train of thought, “Is he gonna be okay?”

“Sweetie, he’ll be fine. Everthing’s gonna be okay.” Bulma said the words, but she didn’t know if she believed them at the moment. She had no doubts about Vegeta’s strength, but head wounds were a different animal, and he’d been hit in the head so many times before. There was so much blood and he was still bleeding. _Why was he still bleeding?_

She needed to get this situation under control. She needed to figure out how bad this really was. “Goku, can you pick him up? Goten, hold his neck steady and support his head. We’re going to the med-bay in the lab.”

In the med-bay, she directed the Sons to put Vegeta on the examining table and covered the wound on his head with a temporary bandage.

“Trunks, I need you to grab me IV tubing, a black-capped syringe, and two of packs of your father’s blood from the C fridge.” She sifted through the lab cabinets locating the sedative she needed. She did not want him to start thrashing or lashing out.

Trunks brought back the items and she fitted the IV in a matter of seconds, the black-capped syringes being designed for tougher-than-human skin. She directly injected a small dose of the sedative… _I need the scanner. I need to know how bad this is._ She started ripping through drawers to find the tool she needed.

“Bulma?” Goku’s voice interrupted as she finally found the hand-held thing and booted up the computer.

“Not now.” Her nails clacked against the keys, opening the programs she needed.

“Bulma, his ki’s fading in and out.” Goku started again, “I’m not sure…”

Bulma turned around, a single tear escaped, but she brushed it away. She touched Goku’s shoulder as she moved past him so she could scan her husband’s head. “Trunks, I need you to check on Bulla. Don’t let her come downstairs no matter how much she fusses. I don’t want her to see him like this.”

“Mom…”  He started to argue.

“Hey, Gotan, why don’t you go upstairs with Trunks and send Dr. Briefs down to help us?” Goku directed.

The younger boy put his arm around Trunks’ shoulders and they left the lab together as Bulma’s scanner beeped repeatedly.

She had to focus and be clinical. She needed to be a scientist and not a wife right now. Vegeta needed her to be strong. There was a piece of metal lodged in his, well if he were human would have been the right Temporal lobe. It sliced through part of what should be his Hippocampus. _Not good._

“Vegeta.” She whispered, as her fingers touched the cool computer screen. She couldn’t do this, she wasn’t a brain surgeon. This would be too delicate. She’d end up killing him. This could not be happening on a random with Friday with no warning and no battle. He was going to die because of something she helped invent.

“Well, I think we’d best get Dr. Kimone here immediately.” Her father had appeared suddenly to her left and was examining the image along with her.

“Daddy…” Her own voice broke a bit.

“Focus and hold yourself together, Dear. We’ll have time to be upset later, but first things first.” The older doctor Briefs didn’t miss a beat, “Goku, I need your help retrieving my friend if you can.”

“Sure thing!”

With that she was alone with Vegeta and in all the time they’d spent together, she’d never felt more alone in a room with him. She always felt his presence, even before they were as they were now. It was hard to take a deep breath as her fingers traced the red-stained gauze. Her husband’s eyes moved side to side under closed lids.

_Where are you? Are you still in there?_

“Please, don’t give up. You never give up.” She kissed his forehead, whispering her words into his skin. “I love you so much. Keep fighting. You’re stronger than this. Come back to me, please. **Guswis** …” She chocked up unable to finish the words he’d taught her, tears running down her cheeks. “Vegeta...”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

### Beatae Memoriae: Chapter 2

 

Twenty-four hours and one excruciatingly difficult two-hour surgery later, Bulma was hiding in her lab sneaking a cigarette. She hadn’t had one of these since before Bulla was born, but she needed to take the edge off while she scanned the non-disclosure agreement from the surgery. Not that she didn’t trust someone her father brought in to help, but she didn’t take chances with ‘ _my husband is an alien_ ’.

Vegeta still hadn’t regained consciousness. It didn’t help that she’d had to increase the sedative twice mid-surgery as he started to tense up and thrash. Movement was not acceptable when a piece of your skull was temporarily removed. Idly she wondered if it would leave a bald spot; he’d hate that. _Be so angry about it_. She stared at the little metal shard in her palm, it barely weighed anything. She tightened her grip around it, feeling the metal bite into her flesh.

A small hand with calloused fingers covered her wrist. “That’s enough brooding.” Chi-Chi clicked her tongue and set a plate of food down in front of her.

Bulma nodded and laid the metal scrap back in the small dish, before putting out her cigarette. “When did you get here?”

“Around dawn, I couldn’t leave your mother alone cooking for everyone with my boys here. I made sure the kids ate. Trunks dozed off for a few hours on the couch, but now he’s going over something with your father and Bulla’s still in bed with Vegeta holding his hand. I’d take a picture, but I don’t want to hear all the bellyaching from him when he wakes up.” The dark haired woman motioned the plate. “I know you don’t want to, but you need to try and eat something.  I’d tell you to sleep, but I know that’s not gonna happen.”

Bulma forced herself to take a few bites. She needed to eat. _Can't live on coffee and a hit of nicotine_.

“You know, he’s going to be fine. Nothing kills those two idiots.”

Bulma drew in an unsteady breath, “But he was dead. No heartbeat, no pulse, the kids couldn’t feel him. He was gone. I lost him.”

“But you got him back and the surgery went well. He’ll recover.”

Fighting the tears that threatened to fall, she heard her own voice crack, “Chi-Chi, where this thing was lodged it affects…”

Trunk poked his head in the doorway. “Hey Mom, Grandma’s baking again. You need coffee or anything?”

“I’m alright, Sweetie." Bulma forced a smile. "Why don’t you check on your sister?”

“Sure. No prob…He’s waking up.” Trunks smiled, but his expression immediately darkened and Bulma could hear why.

Vegeta was yelling.

 Not grumbling, but yelling, partially in Saiyan, almost feral sounding and he was threatening Bulla. _Gods no!_

Trunks had to be on his third heart attack of the day as Bulma rounded the corner the sight before her confirming her worst fears. Vegeta was trying to power-up despite his semi-sedated state, Bulla was cowering in the corner, and Trunks was holding his father’s wrist.

Vegeta sneered and struggled against his son. “I’ll give that little brat something to cry about!” 

“You lay a hand on her and I’ll break every bone in it!” Trunk snarled back with equal ferocity, drawing on every intimidation technique he’d learned from his father.

“What gives you the right to speak to me this way?!? Who the hell are you? Where the fuck am I?” Vegeta couldn’t wrest himself away Trunks’ grip. “I’ll kill you!”

Trunks said nothing to his father, but snapped at his sister, “Bulla, upstairs now!”

The little girl was too terrified to do anything but comply and ran out of the room crying. Chi-Chi scooped her up and hurried them out of the situation.

Bulma knew that Vegeta had pounded it into their son’s head that protecting her and Bulla was his responsibility if Vegeta wasn’t able to. But defending them from himself? That probably wasn’t part of the plan. Trunks was holding his ground, but it was a practiced stance and his blue eyes betrayed his unsureness of the situation.

“Don’t ignore me, Boy!” He snarled.

Goku popped into the room, “Hey Geets! You feelin’ any bett…”

“YOU! I knew you were lying!!” Vegeta nearly escaped his son’s grip. “Forcing that midget to show me mercy so you could kill me yourself!”

Bulma’s hand moved across the counter to the tablet that would let her increase the sedative in Vegeta’s IV. She couldn’t believe that he hadn’t ripped it out. _Did he even remember what an IV was?_

“Maybe there is a bit of Saiyan in you after all you pathetic clown.”

“Huh?” Goku was dumbfounded.

Bulma tapped the button and IV chirped, pumping medicine down the tube. “Trunks, make sure that IV stays in.”

Her son clamped his hand over the insertion point with one hand, while pinning his father to the counter with his other arm.

“You think you can just…”

Trunks powered up, to his Super Saiyan form and Vegeta’s eyes widened for a moment before the extra sedative kicked in fully and he collapsed unconscious.

Goku helped get Vegeta back into bed and Bulma sank into the chair near the door.

Trunks powered down and checked over his father before returning to Bulma’s side. “Mom, are you okay?” After she nodded and Trunks continued sounding broken and confused, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Yeah, what was all that about?” Goku rubbed the back of his head. “It was almost like he didn’t remember we were friends.”

Bulma squeezed her son’s hand. “Trunks, the area of his brain that was affected in the explosion has control over memory. And it sounds like your father might have forgotten some of his time here. With his healing, I’m sure he’ll recover, but I don’t know how much he’s lost for now.”

“It sounded like he’s forgotten everything since before Namek.” Gohan walked into the room, “Sorry, I just got back from checking on Videl and Pan.”

“No, he couldn’t have lost that much.” Bulma countered, but she knew Gohan was probably right.

Gohan looked from Trunks to Bulma and cleared his throat, “Um, Trunks, maybe you should go upstairs.”

The lavender haired youth inclined his head in the direction of his sleeping father. “He told me how he really came to Earth when I turned eighteen, or at least an abridged version of it. Go ahead.”

Gohan bit the inside of cheek choosing his words carefully as he explained. “One of the last things that happened before Vegeta left earth was Krillin almost killing him as he got back to his pod, but dad begged him not to. Dad showed him mercy. After that, we met up on Namek and started working together.”

“So the last thing he remembers is our fight? Yeesh. That’s not good.” Goku folded his arms over his chest, “Vegeta was pretty dangerous back then.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t power up and start wrecking the place.” Chi-Chi, who had reappeared behind her older son, put her hands on her hips. She noticed everyone looking at her and defended her position, “What? He was nothing but a hoodlum back then, he even beat up my Gohan and he was just a baby then.”

“Mom.”

“Well, you were.”

“Vegeta wouldn’t have access to his full power.” Goku explained. “He achieved his higher forms through training and battle, so without his memories, he wouldn’t be any stronger than when he came to Earth the first time.”

“Meaning I could handle him in my Super Saiyan form.” Trunks surmised.

“Exactly. Although, after seeing you as a Super Saiyan, he’s gonna be even a more of a handful.” Goku glanced back at Vegeta.

“If he can even make sense of what he saw. He was pretty doped up. Until he saw you it didn’t take much to hold him back.” Trunks shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Either way, it won’t be you handling him, it’ll be me. I handled him when we all got back to Earth from Namek and I’ll do it again.” Bulma was up on her feet, she needed to breathe. “I’ll be right back.”

“Bulma, wait.” Gohan fell into step with her as they made their way through her home. “You need to rethink this. He’s not the same Vegeta that you called ‘cute’ when we all got wished back here.”

Bulma kept her determined pace, with the half-Saiyan on her heels. She needed to check on Bulla, she needed to look at the data from the explosion, she needed to try and eat again, and she really… _Ugh...Really needed to shower._

“We went through a lot on Namek: working together, his fight with Ginyu, and dying at Frieza’s hand. All of those things changed him; put him in a different state of mind. I’m not sure if this version of Vegeta is ready to have a calm conversation with anyone. In his mind, he just lost to my dad for the first time. He’s angry and he probably hates all of us. You saw the way he reacted to seeing my dad. He’s dangerous right now.” Gohan stopped her just short of her bedroom door. “Hold up a second.”

She sighed, knowing she probably looked as tired as she felt. “I can’t turn my back on him. He’s my husband for Kami-sake.”

“I’m not saying you turn your back on him, but you need to be safe.” He caught Bulma’s hand giving it a gentle squeeze. “Bulma, can you imagine what it would do to him, if he hurts you or either of your kids in this state and then recovers? He’d never forgive himself. I just want to help.”

“I know you want to help.” She ran a hand through her hair. “But the more people that are here, the harder this is going to be. He’s on edge and having a crowd here is going to make him even worse. If it’s just us, I think his sense memory might kick in and he’ll unconsciously relax.”

“It’s what he’s capable of when conscious that gives me pause.” Gohan’s cheeks stained pink as he pushed his glasses up his nose, “So, I’m not sure where she found them, but um…I have um…or rather we…they’re like a kind of cuff and they um…”

“Interrupt your ability to use your Ki?” Bulma smirked, despite everything going on around her, she couldn’t help but snicker at poor Gohan’s embarrassment. “Who do you think gave Videl that set of cuffs? Who do you think designed them? Made them?”

“Okay, well pushing all that awkward aside. I think it might be a good idea to keep the ones, you likely have on Vegeta. Just to be perfectly safe.”

“Gohan, I’m not chaining him up like an animal. The last thing I want to do is back him into a corner. We’ll be fine.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

### Beatae Memoriae: Chapter 3

 

Fine was a stupid word. Fine was a word that people used when they were angry and didn’t want to start a fight. Fine was a word that got thrown around when people were just coping and no one had any answers. There were no definitive answers and despite their best efforts their _guest_ was feeling cornered.

Vegeta had regained consciousness after several hours but was still out of sorts due to the drugs. They had attempted to feed him, but he’d flung the tray to the floor screaming about how their endeavors to poison him were futile.

Bulma tried talking to him, explaining who she was and their situation, but he hadn’t believed her, cursing at her for her ‘plots of deception’ then blatantly ignoring her. After hours of trying to get a response, she internally admitted defeat plodding up to her master bedroom. She curled up on the bed clutching her husband's pillow, burying her face in the cool cotton and his familiar scent.

Just before Bulma dozed off, she felt a blanket being laid over her and she lifted her head to see who was there, "Mom?"

"You get some rest, Dear. Don't worry, this will all blow over soon, you'll see."

Her mother's positivity had always been a source of light for Bulma and she sorely needed it right now. "I just need five minutes. Where's Bulla?"

"I'll keep Bulla with me. You need to at least take a nap. I'll set your alarm for two hours."

She should argue, but her body just wouldn't keep going. "Thanks, Mom." Bulma listened to her mother leave the room and sighed heavily. _Shower first, then nap_.

Dr. Briefs was checking over Vegeta's injuries, while Trunks leaned in the doorway watching warily. That doorway had been Trunks’ post since his father had woken up in such a violent frame of mind. If looks could kill the Prince would have killed his first born within the ten minutes of being awake. 

Bulla still was a wreck; her child’s mind couldn’t comprehend how her Papa could just forget her. She was cuddled up with her grandmother, falling asleep with her favorite cartoon still playing her favorite two plushies in her arms.

Bulma slammed her fists over and over against the shower tiles as she sobbed, trying to will herself back to calm. It was like he was dead without being dead. Her heart burned and it felt like his rage was feeding into her. This could not be real. How long would this last? This could not be their new reality. It couldn’t be.

Dr. Briefs had stepped away from just a moment, asking Trunks a question from hall, distracting the boy just long enough for Vegeta to yank out his IV. He left the tape on his skin so nothing would appear amiss.

Monitor readings did not lie and Dr. Briefs knew the pain in Vegeta’s head must be getting worse, despite no outward signs from the patient.  With the doctor’s good nature being what it was he started to the up the dose of medication, but the Saiyan sprang out of bed.

Vegeta might have been unsteady, but he wasn’t as feeble as he should have been and more alarmingly he didn’t care who he hurt or killed as long as he escaped this infernal prison.

Trunks got between Vegeta and his grandfather and got a sucker punch for his trouble. Even without his full power Vegeta could still throw a punch and Trunks stumbled backwards from the force of the hit.

Vegeta made it to the ground level, blowing a hole in the wall to achieve the first step of his freedom. Rain was pouring down as he intended to take flight, but Trunks grabbed his arm. 

Trunks ducked the wild incoming punch. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

“And who’s going to stop me? You?!?” A flurry of blows came from the Saiyan at the halfing, most of which missed. 

Trunks caught his father’s fist, “I don’t want to hurt you. I want to help you. We’re family.”

“A fucking stupid lie to tell. My planet and everyone on it died!” Vegeta snarled. 

“But you didn’t. You made a family here; a life.” Trunks kept dodging. He sparred with his father so often that he knew most of the moves before they came. “I’m your son. Can’t you see it? Look at me.”

“I’d never lower myself to spawn a half-breed.” Vegeta’s next blow connected with Trunks’ midsection doubling him over.

Trunks might be able to counter how his father fought now with precision and control, but this Vegeta was battling for his life and there was no mercy or restraint in his attacks. The Saiyan Prince leveled blow after blow to his son, viciously focusing on the boy’s ribs. 

“You’ve never killed before, I can see it in your eyes. You killing me is the only thing that is going to keep me from my freedom.” He swept Trunks’ legs out from under him and charged a Ki blast, severely weakened by his drugged state, but none-the-less it could deal mortal damage at this range. “Final Flash!”

Trunks barely managed to charge his counterblast in time and the impact knocked them away from each other. He stood to his feet in time to catch a knee to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. At least one of his ribs was broken and Vegeta yanked him up by the hair to put them at eye-level. 

“TRUNKS! Oh my god! VEGETA STOP!!” Bulma was standing in the doorway in nothing but her bathrobe, terror on her face.

Vegeta’s face twisted into a cruel smile as he narrowed his eyes at Trunks, “You are _pathetic_. I’m going murder that whore mother of yours and that ugly brat. Then after showing you their corpses, I’ll kill you to show you how truly worthless you are.”

A flash of lightning highlighted the fighters as the incoming storm released its furry, thunder rumbling and rain intensifying.      

Trunks, as he was in this timeline, hadn’t gone through what his counterpart had, so he wasn’t as strong as he could be, but he had royal blood and royal temper. His ascension to Super Saiyan level two was instantaneous and he struck a barrage of hits on his unsuspecting father.

Vegeta was unprepared for the onslaught of attacks to his left arm and right ribs. It was as if this bastard somehow knew where he’d been injured previously. And the power he was exerting was like nothing Vegeta had ever seen. It was impossible for the boy to be what he appeared to be. Ascension to the legendary status would have been only if he were a true Saiyan, which the boy was clearly not.

A sharper jab put the Prince on his knees, but despite his swimming vision, he pushed himself back up to his feet. The boy had avoided hitting him in the head, which would have been a logical place to strike. _He was showing mercy? Why?_  !?

“Stay down.” Trunks forced his father back down, but to no avail, the Prince kept struggling to get back up. Swinging wildly, but not connecting Vegeta grunted and continued his attempts to right his fighting stance as Trunks snarled, “I said, stay down!”

“If you want me down, then put me down.” Vegeta wheezed, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “I don’t bow.” He attempted to charge another attack, but Trunks snatched his wrists, lifting him off the ground, taking advantage of their difference in height.

The battle-trained Saiyan went for a headbutt, but that was a move Trunks was all too familiar with and he avoided it with little effort tossing his father to the ground. This time the warning was growled in the native tongue passed from father to son, “ **Og zuy wemyi zuys; mogi tvez up zuys lmiit** (If you value your life; stay on your knees)!” 

Vegeta couldn’t see straight, the youth in front of him appeared to be in two places. But he would not be bested; he would not fall. He lunged at him, but to his bewilderment, the boy grabbed him in something resembling an embrace. “What are y…” 

“The first time I can remember you holding me. This is how it ended.” Trunks brought the side of his hand down on the base of his father’s skull and Vegeta dropped like a stone. Trunks caught him and lowered him to the ground a sob escaping as he powered down. “Dad? Dad, can you hear me? Dad?”

Goku appeared, sensing Trunks’ distress then dramatic increase in power. He looked over Vegeta, “He’s okay, just unconscious. Trunks?”

The boy pushed away from his father, stumbling backward and falling on his ass, nearly hyperventilating.

Bulma rushed outside rain soaking her hastily pulled on clothes, but she could give a fuck less at this point. She locked the Ki restraints on Vegeta’s wrists and asked Goku to take him back to the med-bay, assuring him she’d be down in a moment. She made her way to her son calling out to him, but he wasn’t hearing her.

Trunks’ hands were buried in his hair as he pulled at it, practically incoherent as he sobbed.  “I hurt him. I know I hurt him. Mom, Mom, I didn’t mean to…But I couldn’t...Couldn't let him….”

“Trunks, stop.” Bulma grabbed her son’s face, “Stop it right now! You listen to me. Do you have any idea how proud he would be of you?!?” Trunks drew in a shuddering breath and Bulma pushed his hair back away from his face.

He looked so young and vulnerable; so scared, despite the fact that he’d just won the fight. 

“You stood up to him and protected Bulla and me. You beat him. You have no idea how proud he’s gonna be when we tell him about this after he recovers. He’s gonna fuss in front of you, but it’s all I’m gonna hear about for the next ten years. How strong his son is and how he’s so damn proud of you for defending your family.”

“But Mom, his head...” 

“Trunks, nothing is harder than your father’s head. He will be fine.” Although she was worried about the validity of the statement, she had to be strong for her family right now. Bulma stood up and held out her hand, “Come on.”

Trunks pushed himself back onto his feet, but hugged his mother tightly. “I didn’t want to beat him like that.”

“I know, Sweetie, I know.” She soothed.

 

.:.

 

Goten finished the apple he'd snagged from the pantry and glanced towards the clear patio doors and Bulla, who was still sitting in the sunshine looking outside. He heard her sniffling and tossed the core in the trash before making his way over to sit on the floor beside her.

“Hey Bee, whatcha doin?”

She mumbled something he couldn't make out and rubbed the back of her arm over her eyes.

“Hmmm? What was that? I couldn't hear you?” He prodded softly, trying to get a rise out of her. 

Bulla didn't say anything, just stared forlornly at her backyard. She'd been a shell of her normal self since Vegeta threatened her and they were keeping the two apart especially after the fight last night.

Goten glanced out to where she was looking and saw Vegeta sitting under one of the trees, his back to the house.

“Do you want to go outside and play?” He could take her to the park, maybe fresh air would help?

“Trunks says I'm not 'llowed.” She smoothed the fur on her plushie bunny. “I don't wanna anyways.”

Goten’s phone went off on his pocket, but since it wasn’t his mother he ignored the text and switched it to silent. “You know if you want, we can sneak out for ice cream. Your mom's in the lab and Trunks is sleeping.”

“Nuh-uh.” Her stomach growled loud enough for him to hear it.

_This poor kid._ “Well, it sounds like you might be a little hungry. I can cook us up somethin’ or we can go get your grandma.”

“No, my tummy’s heavy.”

He wished he could make her feel better. Hell, he wished he could make himself better. They were all on edge with a Vegeta acting the way he was, but Bulla was too little to fully understand. 

He'd spent more time with Vegeta than his own father, cause that whole my dad was dead for a while thing. When he found out he was going to meet his father all those years ago, he'd been excited. He'd kept from everyone, but he'd been jealous of Trunks having his father around. Although once he'd met his dad, he was happy that he had the family he had. Their families were different, blame that one on alien DNA.

But Vegeta had always been there, he’d been a stable part of Goten’s life. Despite the Prince's attitude in public, he'd helped him and Trunks train and taught him things that his mother wouldn't have. He was grateful for… 

“Goten?” Bulla whispered her voice cracking a little. “Can I sit with you?”

“Sure.”

She climbed onto his lap and leaned her back against his chest, but kept her hands busy with her plushie. Bulla didn't shy away from physical contact if someone hugged her she didn't back away, but it was rare for her to initiate contact with anyone outside her family. If this had been Pan, his niece would have been climbing on him like a spider monkey and wouldn't have ever turned down ice cream. 

Bulla could be loud and excitable, but right now she was silent with her watery eyes still fixed on her father. Her lower lip quivered, “I want my Papa to be my Papa again.” She started to cry and Goten shifted her away from the window and began rubbing her back. "Why's he so mad at me?"

“Oh Bee, he's not mad at you. He's just sick right now. Everything's gonna be okay. Shh. Shh. Shh.” He rubbed her back and as Gohan came in the side door. He pressed Bulla closer to himself and covered her ears to block the sounds of Vegeta yelling at his father. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise.” He continued, feeling the girl’s stomach growl. “Bulla, maybe we get some strawberries or something for a snack?”

“No.” She whimpered into his shoulder.

Gohan crouched down by both of them, “Hey, Bulla.”

She lifted her head, turning slightly to look at Gohan, allowing Goten to wipe the tears away from her face as she sniffled again. 

“You know Pan has been asking to have you over to play. Would you like to come home with me for a bit?”

“No, thank you.” More tears dripped down her cheeks as she shook her head. “I haven’t done my promises.”

“What promises?” Gohan asked.

“I’m supposed to practiced for a hour every day. I didn’t yesserday or day ‘fore or today. I need to keep my promises.” She hugged her toy tighter to her chest. 

“You don’t…” Goten started, but Gohan interrupted him.

“A whole hour every day, huh?”

“Uh-huh. I practice with Papa.”

“Well, it’s important to keep your promises.” Gohan stood up and put his hands on his hips, “Why don’t you and Goten go the side yard and go through your stances?”

“I need my training clothes and fixed up my hair.”

Gohan smiled down at her, “I can help with your hair. Do you need help with your clothes?”

“No, I can do it myself.” She looked up at Goten, “Goten, you’ll help me with my promises?”

“Absolutely, Bee. Go get changed.” He flashed her a grin and she darted up the stairs.

“Good call.” Goten nodded at his brother.

Gohan shrugged, “The distraction will help. Make sure she's wearing earbuds.”

“Yeah, I heard Vegeta yelling at dad when you came in, great timing by the way.”

“But he's not yelling in Saiyan anymore.”

“Guess that's progress.” Goten pushed himself up and stretched his arms over his head. 

“He _is_ improving, it's just subconscious.” 

“Tell that to Trunks.” Goten snapped, before glancing towards the stairs to make sure Bulla wasn’t in earshot. “What if this is the new normal? What if Vegeta doesn’t get better? Dad cracked his skull when he was a kid and he never got those memories back.” 

“I know, believe me.” Gohan sighed, “but it's Vegeta’s reaction a couple of minutes ago that got my attention. That glass is almost soundproof I couldn't hear Bulla crying until I opened the door. But I sensed her distress.”

“She's a kid, she doesn't really need to focus on controlling her Ki.” Goten fished his wireless earbuds out of jacket pocket. “If Vegeta's bitching about feeling her…”

“No, Goten, that's just it. He wasn't angry at her, but he got angry. I think instinctively he was reacting to her distress. He sensed how upset she was and immediately got worked up. ” Gohan adjusted his glasses, “He’s still in there. We’ll get through to him we just have to keep trying.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Best cameo ever in this chapter, according to @GreatRageShortLegs. She would know ^_~

### Beatae Memoriae: Chapter 4

 

The Scientific Method had always brought her comfort in the craziness of her impossible life. The black-and-white that something either was or wasn’t. Test, results, test, results, test, results, until the pattern shows and prediction is possible. There was the 'lightning in a bottle' mix two elements and instant electricity. She could fix an engine, create a tool to help her do things faster, or determine a person’s likely actions by what they had done in the past. Being able to fix things and people had been her constant.

When a displaced, angry, former world-destroying alien Prince wound up on her lawn she’d applied techniques that had consistently worked: unsettle, flirt, and watch whoever she was dealing with do what she wanted. With Vegeta, it worked but only for a few days, then the fighting started. They were at each other’s throats even after they’d fallen into her bed, his bed, the wall of the GR, her desk... _Focus._

The trust they’d gained with each other had come after vulnerable moments, always in solitude. Show a little faith, get a different result. Bulma had a new plan to fix this situation. She was getting her husband back.

“No way. We're not doing this.” Trunks folded his arms over his chest, impersonating his father, who was skulking around the house somewhere.

“I know we’ve seen improvements and encouraging reactions, but Bulma this is risky. There has to be something else we can try.” Gohan tried to reason with the heiress. 

Goku looked from the boys to her, “He hasn’t tried anything in the last two days, but he’s still not himself. He keeps yelling at me in the mean way, not his normal yelling way.”

“My Dad’s right.” Goten pipped up from behind his phone. “Vegeta’s still in murder-all-things mode. You won’t be safe if you’re alone with him.”

Bulma put her hands on her hips and all the males took a step back. “We’ve tried it the male-macho, Saiyan battle way and it’s been a total disaster. He’s climbing the walls and it’s only a matter of time before we have another brawl.” She held her hand up to silence whatever the attempted counter might be. “The scans show that his brain is healing, that’s why his headaches are getting worse. Brain injuries are always a case by case, it’s delicate, but he’s remembering. I can see it, he's in there. I know his memory is coming back.” 

“But he still acts like he doesn't know us.” Trunks argued. “I know he can’t use his Ki, but, Mom, he’s still a fighter and if he hurts you…”

Bulma sighed, “Sweetie, I know it’s hard for you to understand, but he won’t hurt me. I can’t explain it, but I just know he won’t.”

“You got any evidence to back that up?” Trunks huffed, “Science demands proof.”

“Love has to run on faith sometimes.” She patted his cheek, “Bulla won’t go without you. I need you to watch over her.” 

“Then let Goku or Gohan stay with you. I don’t want you alone with him. I don’t trust him with how he is right now.” His hair obscured his face as he looked away from her.

“Trunks, trust me. Everything is going to be alright. Now go get your sister, make sure her bag is packed.” She motioned him towards the stairs.

“I can stay, it wouldn’t be a problem.” Gohan offered, “In fact, these guys might have more fun if I’m not around.”

“No. I need to try something and it needs to be the two of us.” Bulma confirmed, holding her ground. 

Goku looked down at his friend and nodded, “Bulma knows what she’s doing. If something goes wrong just call.”

“I will.” Bulma promised as her children plodded down the stairs.

“Put it in your backpack with the rest of your stuff.” Trunks growled. 

“NO!” Bulla screeched, “He doesn’t like it in there.”

“Your rabbit is in there.”

“Bunny’s not ‘fraid of the dark.”

“Why the hell would that thing be afraid of the dark? It lives in the damn ocean.” Trunks snipped.

“That’s a bad word!” Bulla yelled back. “You’re not supposed to say it!”

“Bulla, just get downstairs!”                    

“You’re not my boss!” The little girl clutched her red stuffed octopus to her chest as she collided with her mother’s leg. “Momma, I don’t wanna to go. Don’t maka me go! Trunks is mean already.”

Trunks trailed behind her, one bag slung over his shoulder and Bulla’s bright pink backpack in his hand. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his temper. He looked exhausted.

Bulma offered her son an understanding smile before kneeling in front of her daughter, “Bulla, I know you don’t want to go, but you need to. Trunks is going to be nice, but cut him a break, okay?” She cupped her daughter's face in her hands, “It’s gonna be really fun. You and Trunks are going to stay with Pan, Aunt Videl, and Uncle Gohan for a night or two. And I think Uncle Goten is going to hang out with you too.”

“I sure am!” Goten winked at the little girl. “I’m gonna kick your brother’s butt in FighterZ” 

“Nuh-uh! Trunks, is always best at that game.” Bulla stuck out her tongue.

“We’ll see about that.” Goten slipped his phone into his pocket and offered Bulla his hand, “You wanna fly with me?” 

“’Kay, I guess.” Bulla agreed although it lacked her normal exuberance. She hugged her mother tightly, “I love you, Momma.” 

“I love you too, Sweet-Pea.” Bulma kissed the top of her daughter’s head.

Goten hoisted Bulla up on his hip, “Come on, Bee, we’re gonna leave these slow pokes in the dust.”

Bulma was hugging Trunks goodbye, but out of the corner of her eye, she caught Bulla waving at the hallway and heard her mutter a quiet phrase that she always said to Vegeta before leaving the house.

Trunks’ eyes were focused on the silhouette on the wall.

“Trunks, go.” She shooed them all out of the house and let out a long breath as she leaned against the door. “You can come out, they’re gone.”

“Stupid of you to leave yourself unguarded, you are no fighter.” Vegeta appeared from the hallway, folding his arms over his chest the cuffs clinking against themselves. 

“No, I'm not, but those restraints can shock the hell out of you.” She arched an eyebrow, silently challenging him to defy her claim.

“How did you develop these things?” He demanded.

She could almost hear him yelling about his precious GR when he barked at her like that. With so many memories of him acting like an entitled ass, the complaining strangely made her feel a little better about his recovery. “How’s the head?”

“None of your concern. How did you develop these things?”

 _Dog meets bone, the connection is instant and eternal._ Bulma rubbed her own temples, “Come with me.”

“Why?”

“Because,” She sauntered over to him and tapped the cuffs, “we’re going to take those off of you.” 

“Why?” His first inquiry had been a demand; this was spoken in complete confusion.

“Just come on.” She started to walk away, down the hall towards their master bedroom. She heard him follow slowly behind her, no doubt looking at the pictures on the wall, some of which he was in and she couldn’t even imagine how disorientating that was.

Bulma wanted to be scared of him, wanted to be cautious of him, but there was more driving her to show him compassion, to love him, and hopefully, that would bring him back. She remembered all the first moments of trust they’d shared; she’d always stuck her neck out first.

She opened the door to their room and stepped inside, her shadow paused in the doorway, nostrils flaring. 

“I know how good your sense of smell is and you are absolutely right about what you think you smell in this room. This is our bedroom, the one we’ve shared for years." 

Vegeta stepped inside, scanning the room suspiciously. “When…the smell is…”

“The morning you got hurt, three days ago. We had sex in the morning before you went to train and I got ready for work.” She attempted to hold his eye, but he looked away, cheeks tinging pink. Despite his former life, he blushed so easily when it came to sex, it was endearing. “Normally, I would have washed the sheets, but I thought you might die. All I wanted to do was curl up with your pillow and shut out the world, but I needed to care for you and our children. And then you lived, like you always do. You always come back to me.”

He snorted, “Too bad those dragon balls don’t exist anymore; you could have just wished me back.”

“The dragon balls exist, but I wouldn’t have used them to revive you.” Bulma went to the nightstand and got out the key for the cuffs.

“No?”

“No. You asked me to not revive you if you died again. It’s one of only six things you’ve ever asked me for.” Bulma moved in front of him.

He accessed her with an undecipherable expression. He’d never been this disconnected from her and it made it damn difficult. For all their squalling and fighting, they always knew each other. Knew when the fighting was serious and when it was his off-kilter way of flirting. She understood him in ways no one else ever did. He commanded people because he didn’t know how to ask. Asking was for the weak and it gave the other person the power to say no – he hated giving power to anyone. But with her, with her in the shadow and safety of these four walls he’d relinquished his power to her.

“You demand things all the time, but ask? That’s only been six times.” She watched him watch her as she typed the code into the cuffs and a keyhole appeared. “You asked to be allowed to train our son. You asked…” She paused, her index finger touching the small tattoo on his ring finger that his gloves normally hid, “You asked me to be yours forever." 

He shifted on his feet, noticeably uncomfortable.

Bulma continued as she placed the key in the first lock, “You asked to come home after a grave mistake. You asked me that same night to promise never to revive you, which was a dick move by the way.” She removed the first cuff and moved to his other wrist, “Then you...You asked me for our daughter.” She swallowed down her tears as she removed the second cuff.

Now was the moment of truth, she turned her back on him. After setting the cuffs on her nightstand, she paced around the bed retrieving a weathered, leather-bound book from his nightstand.

Vegeta was still standing where she left him and she supposed she should just take the win that he hadn’t bolted out the window. His black eyes were intent on her and the book in her hands, his left hand twitching almost unperceptively, but she was watching for a reaction. 

She held it out to him, and although he clearly wanted to take it, he didn’t. “This was the first thing you ever asked me for. You insulted Earth technology declaring we likely had inferior means of mapping terrain. But you asked for me for whatever we would use to do that so you could find your way around. I was feeling bitchy that day so I gave you the most archaic medium possible. Take it.” She offered it again and this time he accepted. 

“So it’s just mapping?” He opened the cover and Bulma shrugged.

“Honestly, as curious as I’ve always been, I’ve never let myself look at it.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I know you still use it from time to time, you keep a pencil in the spine. I’m hoping that whatever is in there, will help you understand your life here.”

 “I have no memories of things that clearly happened. Nothing about me staying here makes sense.” He was so fucking tense, even his eye was twitching. “I don’t understand any of it. Not you, not those children, not this planet…I hate it.” 

She wished she could calm him down, give him some kind comfort. _Please, let this work._

“I know and I know how much you hate to be confused.” Bulma didn’t make a move to touch him, despite how badly she wanted to. He would probably think she was launching some kind of attack and she didn’t want to risk it. “I know that you’re starting to get your memories back. That’s why you understand certain things that your translator doesn’t make sense of, your brain is healing. I’m certain that in a few more days, you’ll have all of your memories back and this will feel like a bad dream.”

“Tsh. Only weak minded idiots are threatened by dreams.” He dismissed, but his fingers curled tighter on the book.

It wasn’t as if they had a laser system in this room rigged to zap him if his nightmares got too intense or anything.

“Right.” She moved by him to give him some space.

“Where are you going? I don’t care, but this place is a damn maze.”

“I’m going to let you look at that. I’ll be in the kitchen, warming up something to eat. You’re welcome to join me, but look that over first. Maybe it’ll give you some answers.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

### Beatae Memoriae: Chapter 5

 

Her back was to him as she left the room and he clenched his fist the power gather beneath his fingertips. She’d be so easy to kill. He had access to his power again and she was clearly defenseless. But he hesitated; he didn’t want to kill her. It was inconvincible as to why he wouldn’t want to kill her. The woman had invented of those damn cuffs that had held his power in check and it was her home that he’d been imprisoned in. _Why shouldn’t he take revenge?_ She disappeared from view and he relaxed his hand allowing the power subside.

He knew some of what she said was the truth. The brats were oddly colored, but they had his power and they spoke Saiyan – only he could have taught them that. Somehow he recognized their scents and...Thinking on scents, he gingerly sat on the corner of the bed that smelled the least like himself and that woman.

He opened the book and examined the first two pages. The meticulous map was of the surrounding area: nearest forests, water supplies, and where the brat of Kakarot lived. There were notes on the map about how to best avoid the humans and how he was waiting for Kakarot to return. 

The third page had a detailed account of his own death at the hand of Freeza. His hand moved unconsciously to where the wound was described to have been, feeling the scar left behind. There was also mention of how his foe had ascended to the legendary status of Super Saiyan. This was written in his hand. He recognized the writing, but how? _How had Karkarrot achieved it?_ According to this he stayed here while awaiting Kakarot’s return, but left once the clown refused to return to Earth. 

The fourth page was a sketch of the inside of a primitive spaceship, the same logo he saw everywhere in this place adorned the main panel. He was seeking to challenge Kakarot, so he could learn this power. He was incensed that he couldn’t find him. 

The next few pages were nonsense about loss and regret about not avenging his people. He snorted at this version of himself whining like a child. No point in lamenting what wasn’t and yet… Yet it burned that someone, who didn’t understand the depths of Freeza’s cruelty had been the one to take him down. It should have been him. He should have been the one to rise and defeat the tyrant. He should have taken his rightful place in the universe. 

It looked as if some time passed between that entry and the next. This page was a sketch of the boy that was obviously his son, though he didn’t look quite the same. The word “fake” was written over and over near the image. He hadn’t believed the boy was truly a Super Saiyan as he presented to be or even Saiyan for that matter. _Why would he doubt it?_ Did the boy’s mother not tell him that he’d been born? That didn’t make any sense from what he’d seen in this home, he’d lived here – watched the boy grow up. _Perhaps this wasn’t in order?_ That made even less sense. 

The next two pages showed a room with notes about increased gravity and how he would achieve the legendary form. His teenage son wasn't mentioned again – in fact, every note was him planning to recreate this technology once he defeated ‘androids.’ Mostly these were diagrams, but on the sixth age in the corner was a delicate hand holding a tool, it had been partially erased.

The twelfth page showed the same hand, there was a small scar on the index finger, but it was holding a burning stick. There were other small partial sketches of the woman as well: her eye with an arched eyebrow, her turned up nose, a soft smile, and her looking up through her lashes… ‘Bulma’. He’d written her name in what he assumed was her language. His translator identified it, but it still looked odd to him.

Page after page of the same: his obsession with ascending, which made sense; details of the area, which made sense; and _her_ in various positions, which made no sense at all. He had never been one to seek out carnal company, but he knew what a ‘come-hither stare’ was…But that phrase shouldn’t make sense. Those words didn’t mean what the phrase meant. His eye twitched sharply and he clamped his eyes closed for a moment in an attempt to alleviate the pain. 

He kept turning pages, finding that he had sired a child with the woman and how he’d stalked away from her rather than claim it. But there was a drawing of the infant sleeping on his mother’s chest. Her hand on the child’s back, the detail of that scar again. He’d stayed close to them. _Why? Why had he stayed?_ The reveal that the teenager he’d met before had been his son from the future. A room where in a day, a year would pass? His pride in his ascent, but subsequent his defeat. The loss of the boy from the future and his own futile efforts to avenge him, only to see him returned to life by way of a wish and gone back to his time just as quickly as he’d come. 

This was a life that he didn’t understand and yet one he had obviously lived. Some notes were shorter, some even in the odd human writing instead of his native tongue. His focus apparently splitting between a quest for greatness and allowing himself to be at some kind of rest with this family he’d made. With his rival once again gone and the victory denied him, this version of himself seemed lost. But here is where he’d chosen to come back to, back to the woman and back to his son.

There were more images of the woman, the boy growing up, and finally the girl… The girl, the one that he’d terrified but she’d still called out to him to ‘ **Tvepf tvsupj emupi ypvom xi esi ypovif eheop** (stand strong alone, until we are united again).’ Her pronunciation had been precise, even better than the boy’s had been. The human name ‘Bulla’ underscored with notes about the old Legend of Eschalot and how that name would be her second one. 

His pride in his children, his love for his wife and for this world he’d come to call home. None of this made any sense…none of it. He knew his words and handwriting could be faked, but to what end? Why this elaborate of a scheme? Why with so much that could be easily dismissed as fiction? Time travel? A grotesque monster that would drain people with its tail? A pink blob that was a truer terror? His sacrifice in vain…That crazy woman striking Beerus?!? _Why fabricate it?_

By the time he reached the last covered pages, he could scarcely force his eyes to remain open. He hadn’t even understood several of the previous pages. The pain was worse than any he’d ever felt before. Perhaps he was to die, but then maybe this was his path back to the man he now was. He’d never known anything to be achieved without pain. 

“You’ve been in here for hours. Are you alright?” The woman’s voice was soft, gentle.

_‘Are you alright? I haven’t seen you since Trunks went back to the future. Here let me help you.’_

He heard her speaking but it was as if an echo was overshadowing her words. He was hearing her now and hearing her before now. It was just out of reach, maybe if he focused, concentrated on the echo then it would make things fall into place. 

“Hun, are you okay? Look at me. Can you open your eyes?” She stepped closer to him.

_‘You can’t just ask to marry me like that and then go back to sleep. Look me in the eye, do you even know what you just asked me? You’ll have to agree to a human ceremony…Wait you’re serious?’_  

The bed dipped as she sat next to him, her fingers skimming where the bandage for his injury had previously been. “Talk to me. Are you in more pain than before?”

He didn’t mean to lean into the contact, but his body instinctively moved closer to hers.

_'Do you have any idea how much you hurt me? How could you do that?!? Are we not enough? Am I not enough?!? Get up off your knees, you can be sorry all you want, but I can’t that believe you’re going ask me **that** after everything we’ve gone through.’_

“Hurt.” He managed through clenched teeth.

“Let me get you something. I’ll be…” She started to get up, but he panicked grabbing her hand, forcing her to stay.

“I hurt you.” He corrected. He didn’t want her to leave. The searing ache intensified, but there no progress without pain. No way to move forward without pain. There was always pain, but she…She was anchoring him. The closer she got the more vivid the echo became. Sights and sounds he had no explanation for but somehow he knew they were real.

Her fingers threaded into his hair, nails scraping methodically. Trying to help him relax, trying to calm him – _Sunshine and coffee; starlight and wine…_

“It’s happened from time to time. If you won’t let me get you something, at least lay back with me so you can rest.”

He allowed it. He acquiesced and reclined on the bed with her. Their scents were so prominent on the pillows, it was so natural to rest his head on her chest, as his hands searched for her skin. He was known by her and she by him… _how?_ How had this come to be his fate? 

“Vegeta, you need to try and relax. Breathe with me. Everything’s alright, I’m here.”

_‘Another baby? Are you sure?’ Her breathless smile drew him to capture her in a lingering kiss. He needed her. On his knees, with her legs spread wide, sliding into her soaked entrance, but tortuously slow, as he affirmed his request. He wanted her. He wanted another child with her, one to affirm his dedication to the life he’d chosen here. ‘I’m not as young as I was with Trunks. You ready to commit to that? No chickening out and running when I give birth. You’ll have stick around; be here.’_

The memory was so vivid that his breath hitched in his throat.

“No! I’m putting my foot down. If it hurts so much that you can’t breathe, then I have to get you something. I didn’t save you to let you die now.” She started to move, but he pinned her down. “Vegeta?”

“You, save me.” He whispered into her skin, lips moving to the bumps of her collarbone. “You saved me here.” He found the tender flesh of her neck leaving a damp path with his tongue. “You saved me here, with your flesh pressed to mine.”

She squirmed beneath him, “You aren’t in any shape to be…”

“Save me, Bulma.” He pleaded into her ear.  Memories bleeding into reality: breathless cries, demands, laughter, and her touch – _pain in his heart that he couldn’t place and pleasure that he’d denied himself for so long_. “My body remembers yours. I need to remember what I feel. Bring me back to who I am. If I am the man in those pages, then _you_ are the only way I will come back. Save me again.”

Tears escaped her blue eyes as she pulled him down for a kiss. Her taste was so familiar, the feel of her mouth on his was rush of honesty. The confusion and haze becoming the echo to her familiar voice, “You have to be careful, I’m not as strong as you.”

_He’d stolen the kiss from her and he wasn’t even sure why he’d done it. But his lips were still pressed to hers as she tangled her fingers into his hair and whispering breathlessly, “I’m not as breakable as you think. I’m not made of glass.”_  

“You aren’t made of glass.” He slipped his hand under her shirt, pads of his fingers finding the stripes on her stomach. _She hated these marks. Tried to hide them from him after their son’s birth._ He ignored any dissension and lowered himself to her stomach laving his tongue over the brightest one, “We wear our scars like jewelry.”

“Marks of survival.” She echoed, then tugged at the shirt he’d been given to wear. “Take it off.”

It should have given him pause, her order and the risk of exposure, but he didn’t hesitate to sit up and remove the item. Her hands ran up his body and a shiver ran down his spine as she found an unfamiliar scar.

_The scent of oil and sweat in the air as she dug her heels into his hips, her back against the wall of the gravity room as he thrust into her with more fever, her nails biting into a scar on his shoulder._  

He bowed his head and nuzzled her hair, drawing in the scent of tropical flowers and sandalwood. “Take it off.” She complied, ridding herself the top, leaning on her elbows in her blue cotton bra. He crowded into her space palming her hardening nipples through the fabric. “Don’t rip it.”

_‘I swear to Kami, if you rip this one. Not even being a super Saiyan will save you.’_  

She unhooked the garment and let it fall from her shoulders. “I happen to like this one.” She bit down on her lower lip as she tossed it aside.

“Royal blue lace.” He murmured, trailing an open mouth over her body until he captured one of her nipples, suckling as she buried her finger back into his hair and moaned loudly.

_She was in his bed on all fours, in nothing but a lacey bra as he pounded into her, while she begged for release._  

“I need you.” His voice cracked, as he panted over her breastbone. He didn’t know what was driving him; what was possessing him, but the thought of not knowing who he was, was more terrifying than any enemy he’d ever faced. To walk this world half in and half out of reality wasn’t something he could bear. Every touch brought him closer to knowing. She was the answer.

Her hands found his face, coaxing him into a deep kiss. “Lie back for me.”

Submission was to be feared, it led to torture, and while his mind reeled at the thought, something deeper and more primal assured him of the safety here. He rolled over and felt her tugging at the last piece of clothing he was wearing. Stripped bare he stared at the woman as she took his length into her mouth, with practiced precision.

_She was on her knees, his fingers buried in her hair as she sucked his cock with enthusiasm swallowing down his completion with a grin on her face that told him they were only getting started._

“Bulma…” He needed more, needed something more… 

She shimmied out of her remaining clothes and climbed astride his hips. Her eyes drifted closed as she rocked her hips, rubbing herself against him. Teasing herself, making herself wet as he watched.

_A fight about something, he couldn’t even remember what they’d been arguing about because when she shifted he could smell her desire in the air. She wanted him._  

“Are you here?” She was looking at him, seeing him, knowing him more than he knew himself, and all he could manage was a nod in response. She sank down on him and he gripped the sheets so tightly the material ripped.

She moved her body slowly building up a rhythm with one hand buried in her hair as the other braced on his chest. Cursing breathlessly she rolled her hips, a hypnotic sight that he was powerless against.

_He relinquished control to her as she hovered over him, performing a kind of wanton dance as she rode him like the goddess she was. The only temple he would ever bow his head to, the only salvation he’d ever receive was her. His queen… **“Na ryiim, guswis.”**_

It was muscle memory and as second nature as throwing a punch, he reversed their positions, drawing a startled gasp from her. He kept the pace she’d set, but entwined their fingers, his thumb found the scar on her index finger. He brushed his nose against hers as he pressed his weight more firmly on her, making her moan in pleasure. “Na ryiim…” 

“Guswis.” She finished, lips brushing over his cheek, “Your promise to me: Forever; we are forever.”

He let himself go as much as he dared, letting her fall apart before he allowed himself the same. Breathing heavily he rained kisses down her face, willing the memories to return completely. His head was throbbing, but he didn’t care. He finally was starting to make sense of it all. The pieces were falling in place, but he needed to rest.

“Are you alright?”

“Hmmm.” He withdrew and rolled onto his side and she paralleled him. “It’s coming back in flashes.”

“How bad is the pain?” She reached out for his head, but he grasped her hand.

“I’ve had worse.” He examined her delicate hand and kissed the scar on her index finger. “You had this before we met.”

“Yeah, burned it on a circuit when I was creating the dragon radar.”

He felt his eyes closing, but he was fighting rest. He worried that he would wake out of sorts again. “Why did you invite me into your home?”

“Because I know how much it hurts to be alone.” She pushed herself closer to him, pressing their foreheads together. “Plus, you were pretty cute.”

“Crazy woman.” He scoffs.

“Now you’re starting to sound like you.”

His breathing was evening out, he was going to fall asleep; he started to shift.

“Just get some rest.” She admonished.

“I don’t want to forget what I’ve remembered.”

“I’ll just remind you again and again and as many times as I need to, until it sticks.” She pulled the blankets over them. “Now go to sleep.”


	6. Chapter 6 and Epilogue

### Beatae Memoriae: Chapter 6

 

He blinked awake, unsure how long he’d been asleep. Not much light in the room, so logically he couldn’t have been unconscious for more than an hour or two. The pain was now pressing behind his eyes, but it was duller than before. He inclined his head to the woman sleeping beside him assessing her in the stillness. Her hand tucked under her chin, a serene expression on her face as her chest rose and fell in an even rhythm. It was bewildering to watch her as he felt both nothing and everything for her. It was as if one eye could see every memory they’d ever made together and the other eye saw nothing.

He brushed his hand over the woman’s cheek.  _She was so soft_. How had this become his life? The pale light from the outside highlighted the trinkets and tools strewn all over the room. What a strange place for him to settle in. How strange for a woman like her to accept him.

_‘You’re kind of cute, ya know.’_

He clamped his eyes closed as the memory reverberated in his ears. He eased his way out of the bed and laid the covers carefully over Bulma. He got dressed and picked up the leather bound book, before slipping out of the room. Pacing down the hallway, his eyes inspected each picture for a second time, now with context. Some of the images were vaguely familiar now, while others were a mystery…most of them he either was not in or was off to the side.

_‘Just one picture. Come on, it won’t kill you.’_  

His stomach growled, but something drew him away from the kitchen and down one of the other hallways. He pushed open the first door open he came to; it was clearly the boy’s room. His son; this was his son’s room.

_‘His name is Trunks. It’s a family name, not that you would care.’_

The room was messy; _too much like his mother_.  The boy was naturally gifted. It made him a little cocky and unfortunately a bit lazy, but he was brave when it counted and his dedication to his family helped to balance those shortcomings. There were posters on the walls and against the far wall a cluttered desk covered with blueprints, textbooks, pens, notes, and a pair of framed photographs. He lifted one of the frames, seeing himself and a young Trunks, the boy holding a trophy and his hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

Setting the frame down he flipped through the book, maybe there was something about this moment. Surely his son’s victory, whatever it had been would have been worth noting. Struggling to recall what he’d read a few hours ago, he flipped through the pages until found an account of martial arts tournament. The story was simple and without detail other than Trunks had bested his rival’s younger son. In the next pages, he noticed remoteness in his writing and there were images of the woman, but from a distance. Something had come between them, something he hadn’t been willing to commit to paper or he rather he’d been unwilling to keep it. There was a page torn from the binding. He’d failed her somehow, even without knowing…

_“I wanted him to return me to the way I was before, the perfect warrior: cold and ruthless, when I lived by my strength alone, uninhibited by foolish emotions. But slowly over the years, I became one of you… I awoke one day to find that I had settled down, formed a family and I had even grown quite fond of them.”_

Vegeta stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over a pair of shoes, but righting himself at the last moment. His own words haunting him as the moments reconnected like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Surrendering himself to an outside power or settling down, he couldn’t put his finger on which was the more befuddling part of the memory. The rage that he’d felt in that moment, that one final chance to defeat that clown had caused him to turn his back on oaths he’d made. Turn his back on…

_“…you need to take good care of your mother…Trunks, you are my only son, and yet I’ve never once held you, not even when you were a baby. Come here, Son.”_

He had sacrificed himself to save his family and this world he now called home. The embrace and final blow that Trunks had delivered at the end of their fight now had clarified meaning.  He’d done the same to save his son from Buu. There were bits he could recall about that fight and the after. Coming back here had been far more terrifying than facing his death.

Bulma’s tears and rage once they were alone, but also her acceptance of his apology…She’d let him come home. This had become home. _How?_

The other framed photo on the boy’s nightstand was a snapshot in the frame was of all four of them. It was slightly blurry as if in the motion: Trunks and Bulla were laughing, as was Bulma, and he was smiling at his wife. The image was obviously taken without his knowledge. There was also a photo tucked under the frame’s edge: Trunks, Goten, and Marron all making ridiculous faces at the camera. _Who was Marron?_

His left eye twitched violently as the memories of Krillian, the blonde android, and a little girl flashed like video clips. The midget that nearly killed him was now an ally, their families...close. Their children played together when they were younger: barbeques, birthday parties, weddings, and visits to the beach. 

He needed to move, he was restless and movement distracted him from the pain. The other room in the hall that drew his attention was clearly his daughter’s. The colors in the room were feminine, but in contrast to the mess of the boy’s, it was impeccably neat. All of the toys on shelves arranged from tallest to shortest, her bed made, and her clothes put away. Even the crayons on her small desk were in order from darkest to lightest while her childish drawings sat in neat piles alongside her coloring and reading books. As much as he’d wanted another child, he’d nearly worried himself into insanity as the time of her birth drew near.

_“I’m not leaving her side.”_

He’d given up chances to fight and train opting to remain with his wife before his daughter was born. There was concern over her age and his general lack of knowledge of human pregnancies. Childbirth was not something that happened on his planet, children would be put into pods when considered viable. How would a physically weak human birth such a strong child? _He hadn’t been here when she’d carried the boy._ But Bulla had come into the world by extraordinary means with Whis intervening.

_After he took his daughter from Trunks, he settled her in his arms and looked down at the infant, whose features perfectly mirrored her mother’s. Despite all the noise behind him, his thoughts were clear. He would not repeat the transgressions of his past, he would be present for his daughter._

‘Tournament of Power’ was what it had been called, but it had been a tournament of survival. Failure would have meant the elimination of the entire universe. He’d fought for his children, his wife, and for those, he now held in esteem against an opponent that bragged about throwing everything aside.  He threw nothing aside, he was a Saiyan Prince and his pride was his strength, those he considered family his inspiration. He would not fall. The power that once killed him, now felled a would-be god of destruction. The success of their universe had meant his return home.

On Bulla's nightstand was a familiar book with a moon and stars adorning the cover. _Her favorite book_. The pictures framed on her nightstand were collages from when she was first born to her current age. There was also a framed handprint with a smaller handprint inside of the larger. His hand had been carefully covered in royal blue paint and pressed to a page, while Bulla’s had been covered in turquoise paint laid atop his after his print was dry. It had been a school project earlier in the year, she’d insisted on his help instead of her mother’s.

The pages in his leather-bound book detailed how different his children were, how his daughter was methodical where his son had been reckless. How his son was constantly caring for his younger sister. How his daughter was more often than not his shadow. And how they both seemed to be more like their mother and how grateful he was for that.

He needed food; couldn’t put it off any longer. Making his way down oddly familiar hallways, it seemed his body remembered more than his mind could. The food previously warmed up by the woman had gone cold, but it was filling. He was never one to complain about a meal, though some of the things in the refrigerator were overly sweet.

_‘Nice to have someone to cook for with a healthy appetite.’_

The woman’s mother was a doting human who he was never quite sure about, so he often opted for silence during their interactions.

He shoveled another bite of food into his mouth still unsettled by not being on one of Freiza’s ships or reporting in his progress. Though at the same time he felt no compunction to do so and why would he? There was no more Freiza, well not in that capacity anymore. He was free of the tyranny that he’d lived under his entire... His hands were unsteady as he gripped a glass of water and took a long drink. The time he’d spent working for Freiza was now less than half of his life. He was so much older than he remembered being. He needed the whole of his memories returned. He hated being a foreigner in his own home and stranger in his skin.

He finished eating and the auto-programmed cleaning bots went to work removing the dishes and cleaning them. Sliding the glass door open he stepped out into the night air, it was cool on this planet and it smelled alive. He inclined his head up, finding the point that was once his home. The light still shined as if it were a living world, it’s destruction wouldn’t be reflected in the heavens for years.

_‘That’s ludicrous! At 300 times gravity, it will feel like your body weighs 18 tons.’_

The older Dr. Briefs had been nervous around him at first, but had never been unwelcoming and had helped build the technology requested. Scratch, the small black cat perpetually perched on the Doctor’s shoulder, was often his companion after late night trainings. 

The remains of Gravity Room had been covered by heavy plastic sheets, the metal was twisted and burnt. The woman had explained that he’d been training there when an explosion occurred and the head injury that he’d sustained was what had robbed him of his memories. He pulled back part of the tarp and cocked his head as he reflected on the scraps. _This was what led to the advancement of his power?_ He’d been training to ascend when there had been an explosion. He had a vague memory of an explosion and _her…_

_'Vegeta! You’re hurt.’_

She had cared for him. There had been no greater confusion for him then waking up to find the woman watching over him. With a crooked smile and sharp tongue that matched his verbal attacks, he always found her to a worthy opponent in temperament. But trust was so utterly foreign to him that her kindness had been met with abrasive rebukes. However, she had only rolled her eyes and reminded him that ‘they were all in this together.’ She had cared for him in a way that no one had before. If he had been doted on in his early childhood those memories were long lost. She had welcomed him in, in so many ways. In ways, he knew he didn't deserved. 

He heard her approach before he felt her mold her chest to his back, lithe arms wrapping around his waist. He instantly tensed and she started to move away, but he rested his arms over hers, forcing himself to be still.

“Hey, did you come out to get some fresh air?” Her breath was warm on his shoulder and smelled of mint. 

He glanced back, finding her blue eyes searching for answers in his. “I can’t recall everything. It’s like looking through murky water.” 

“Well, I suppose that while I am good in bed, sex alone isn’t gonna fix everything.”

He felt his cheeks warm, “Vulgar woman, why did I ever commit myself to you?”

She laughed and rubbing her tiny nose on his neck, “Sex magic. I bewitched you.” 

“I’d believe that.” He turned to face her, but kept her close, noting her cooling skin. “You’re cold.”

“Well unlike you, I don’t come equipped with an internal furnace.” She stepped closer, pressing her body to his as she whispered, “You’re delightfully warm. Let’s go back to bed.”

Unable to help himself he inhaled deeply, drawing in her scent, anchoring himself to where he was in time. “One instant I think I’m where I belong, but the next I feel like I should be reporting back to…” He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to her forehead. “How long until this lunacy subsides?”

“We can go scan your brain if you want. See how things are healing.” She yawned and motioned for him to follow, “Come on.”

_‘Come on, you can’t stitch your back yourself and I’m not gonna have you bleeding to death on the lawn. The neighbors will talk.’_  

He sat down on a chair nearest to the door, he had no desire to be anywhere near the examining bed again. Closing his eyes he listened to her retrieve the scanning device she that kept using on him. It was primitive but seemingly accurate.

“That looks better. A lot better actually.” She mused at his side, fingers lazily threading her fingers through his hair. He sighed involuntarily at the contact, something about that motion seemed to relax away some of the pulsing. “Please come back to bed and rest.”

_‘Come lay down on the grass with me. It’ll do you some good to chill out.’_

“Why did you want me to lay in the grass with you?” He questioned suddenly.

“What a random thing for you to remember.” She shook her head, “I figured dirt was dirt. I read in a psychology journal once that when bare feet touch grass it’s like hitting the restart button. And as many planets, as you’d been to, I thought that maybe having the earth beneath you might somehow feel familiar.”

“You blew the seeds of a weed in my face.” He furrowed his brow.

She laughed, “A dandelion, yeah, I did. You weren’t thrilled.”

He pulled her onto his lap and rested his face in the crook of her neck. “You said it was good luck.”

“I was testing my luck. I wanted to see if you’d blow me up, but you didn’t.” She continued to massage his scalp.

“Crazy  female.”

“Grumpy Saiyan.”

“Indeed.”

She leaned her forehead to his, “You’re being very affectionate.”

He huffed, “I’ve been drugged multiple times. It’s the human chemicals you’ve been poisoning me with, I assure you.”

“Okay, whatever you say.” She kissed his forehead, “Let’s go back to bed.”

 

### Beatae Memoriae: Epilogue

 

  **One Week Later:**

 

With the GR still under reconstruction Vegeta and Trunks had opted to fly out over the island that the family owned to spar for a few hours. They didn’t talk much, but it was good for them to reconnect in a way that meant something to Vegeta. Even the flight back was quiet until they hit the edge of the city.

“I still think you're lying about that footage of our fight being destroyed.” Vegeta accused.

Trunks rolled his eyes, “I told you, I wasn't so much focused on aim as I was trying to deflect your attack.”

“And you were so careless that you took out three cameras? Unlikely.”

“First, you aimed your Final Flash at my face, living was my only goal. Second, you underestimate how much power you actually threw at me. And third, I didn’t hit three cameras, I hit a power box and that overloaded the security backup.”

“I still don't believe it.”

“It was a close fight, I barely beat you.”

“Hnn.”

“Dad, if I had actually kicked your ass. I'd rig that video to play on a continuous loop in GR once it’s back up and running.” Trunks sped up, “Come on I'm starving.”

Vegeta knew his son was lying about it, but he had to let it go. Bulma had searched every data file at Capsule Corp, but there were no video files from that night. His memories from the days of his recovery were incomplete. It bothered him that he couldn't remember the whole fight and no one would tell him the truth of it.

They landed on the lawn and Bulla instantly attached herself to his leg.

“Girl, I have to shower before dinner. Go on.”

Bulla laughed at his growl and dashed off into the house.

“Both of you need a shower.” Bulma waved her hand in front of her nose. “Get to it; Mom's got dinner ready in 10.”

 ...

Later that evening Vegeta sat on Bulla's bed with his daughter finally falling asleep in his arms. He carefully shifted her to her mass of pillows, but she opened her tired blue eyes.

She murmured, “One more story.”

“I've told you four already.” He kept his tone low, maybe he could lull her back to sleep. “It's time to rest.”

“Then two quiet minutes, please Papa. I don't want you to leave yet, I'll be quiet.”

“Bulla.”

“Pretty please, just one more minute. I have something to tell you.” She yawned.

He relented to her plea with a sigh, pressing his nose to her hair. She smelled clean from her bath as she gripped his shirt to prevent the possibility of him escaping. To say Bulla had been clingy since his accident was an understatement. This was the third night in a row he'd attempted to get her to sleep in her own bed, the previous night she’d been in bed with him and Bulma.

“Papa, do you still ‘member me?”

“Of course I still remember you. I am healed. Eschalot, **xi jewi ciip uwis vjot** (we have been over this).”

“But you forgets me.”

It hurt. It hurt, every time she asked and every time she reminded him, like a vice on his chest. His memory of those few days wasn't perfectly clear, but he knew he'd scared his daughter, fought his son, and threatened his wife. Bulma was fine, Trunks seemed to be fine, but Bulla was still unsure. He'd tried to look at the footage from the med-bay to see what he’d done, but the files were partially deleted. _His wife's doing no doubt._

He lifted her back up against his chest rocking with her and kissing the top of her head. “I will never forget you again. **Zuy jewi na xusf** (You have my word).”

“Okay.” She wiggled her way up and grabbed his face. “I be a brave princess tonight. I sleep here and you can with momma.”

_Was this a trick?_ He eyed her carefully as she loudly kissed his nose.

“Okay that was last kiss. Goodnight.” She shoved him away so she could snuggle under her covers. “Thank you, Papa.”

She took the odd red-colored plushie thing that he offered, cuddling it and her bunny. That odd red toy, always looked like it wanted to pick a fight. It was a strange thing for her to be so fond of.

He kissed her cheek one more time and then left the room, closing her door and counting to ten before pacing to his bedroom. 

Bulma was lying face down on the bed still in her jumpsuit from surveying the construction on the new GR. He lay down next to her and didn't even bother blocking her flailing arm. “Where’s my girl?” Bulma muttered into the blankets.

“In her room.”

“Really?” Bulma rolled over onto her side, “We have our bed back?”

“Tsh. You're the one that told me to be patient with her fears.”

She rolled her eyes, before shifting closer and touching his cheek, “And you've done such a great job too. Is she finally feeling better?”

“I suppose. She let me leave.” He let his eyes drift close.

“Headache back?”

“No, I haven't had trouble for days. Stop fussing.”

Bulma sighed, “I'm not fussing, I'm doctoring.”

“Don't do that either.” He tugged her on top of him and flopped onto his back. “Be a scientist. Fix the Gravity Room, it's taking too long and _your_ son is insisting on focusing on his classes the next few days.”

“Well _my_ son has finals and I’d rather he not fail.” She pushed up on her elbows digging them into his chest making him grunt, as she rested her chin in her hands. “And I’m sorry, would you be referring to the GR that I had _our_ son ask you not to run at full capacity; which you did anyway?” She shifted putting her knee between his legs.

He took a slow breath in watching her cheeks flush.

“Which resulted in it exploding and you almost dying. You’re lucky I decided it was worth rebuilding.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she continued.

“Lucky, that your brilliant wife…Ummmm.” She yelped into his hand as he reversed their positions trapping her between his legs. She arched her eyebrow silently challenging him to ‘get on with whatever he had in mind.’

“Are you finished?” He removed his hand from her face, sliding his fingers through her hair and drawing her up to ravage her mouth with a long kiss. “Do you really want to spend our first night alone in a week squabbling?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t love fighting with me.”

“I would never.”

 

**....Beatae Memoriae (Of Blessed Memory)**

 

Thank you for reading.


End file.
